


Five Things Dean Taught Sam How To Do

by Perfica



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Gen, Humor, Weechesters, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-05-26
Updated: 2007-05-26
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perfica/pseuds/Perfica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean made sure both the front and back doors were locked so Sam couldn't wander down to the water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things Dean Taught Sam How To Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Destina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destina/gifts).



1\. They were staying on a lake during the off-season. John had left before dawn and promised to be back before nightfall. Dean made sure both the front and back doors were locked so Sam couldn't wander down to the water.

Reception on the TV was sporadic at best – black and white afternoon movies showed fuzzy under a set of rabbit ears that were rusted and crooked beyond repair. Dean sat on the floor and played with the small collection of cars they'd managed not to lose.

A clatter from the kitchen had him jumping to his feet. Sam was trying to pick up an old broom that'd been leaning against the chipboard cupboards, a remnant left behind by some happy family that had holidayed together in the summer time and had a mother who was concerned about things like dust and sand in the short span of days they'd be away from the familial home.

"Here," Dean said, picking up the broom and bringing the handle down to Sam's level. "Push. Push it."

Sam grabbed the end with both hands, sticky fingers lying over Dean's one-handed grip. He toddled forward and Dean went with him, sweeping invisible piles of dirt into the corner. Dean controlled the direction while Sam provided the force.

"That's it, you're cleaning. Good boy."

Sam smiled up at him.

 

2\. Dean used a black marker and the spine of one of John's books to draw a series of evenly spaced lines down the empty back page of one of Sam's coloring-in books.

"Okay, jump up."

Sam sat on his lap, bony ass digging into Dean's thighs.

"Pick a color," he said as he grabbed a blue crayon. Sam chose a red one and clutched it tight between chubby fingers.

"Here we go," Dean said and began to write. "Ess. Now you do it. No, the line underneath."

"Etttth," Sam lisped, copying Dean's sinuous example, although Sam's attempt looked more like a bolt of lightening.

"Aaaaay," Dean said, deliberately drawling. The state they'd been living in the past two months played nightly reruns of _Happy Days_ and, although he wouldn't admit it, Dean thought the Fonz was _way_ cool. When he grew up, he wanted a motorbike and a leather jacket just like him.

"Aaay," Sam repeated, this letter a full three inches away from the first one.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Like that. Like the top bit of a star but you put the line there instead of at the bottom. Okay, next one."

"Em," Sam said, opening his eyes comically wide. "Mmm. _Mmmmm_. Like the ad, Dean."

"That's right; mmm means yummy. Do another one."

Sam painstakingly created another 'M', drawing the outside lines first then filling in the middle with two short stabbing marks.

"Last one." Dean wrote the letter 'Y' and Sam copied it underneath.

"Finished?" Sam asked.

"Done," Dean replied. "See? Sammy. That's you. Sammy."

They spent a short time admiring their handiwork; Dean's precise blue letters and Sam's larger ones that leaned precariously to one side.

"You now," Sam said. "Do Dean."

"Alright," Dean said as Sam pulled the book closer. "Choose another colour."

Dean picked up a green so light it was almost invisible on the page. Sam chose orange; bright and warm and friendly.

"Dee," Sam said and looked up at Dean expectantly.

"Dee," Dean agreed and began to write his name.

 

3\. "Scalpel," Dean said, seriously, holding his hand out.

Sam, looking just as serious, placed the knife in his hand. Dean nodded approvingly; he'd taught Sam the proper way to handle knives and Sam had remembered to grasp the blade carefully between the thumb and first two fingers of his hand and slap the handle solidly into the waiting palm.

"Just needs a little incision…here."

Sam watched open-mouthed as Dean cut into Thomas The Teddy's leg. Sam had gone through a _Thomas The Tank Engine_ phase and now everything was gifted with that name. At least the teddy bear made sense; not like the Thomas The Block Set.

"Steady, steady," Dean said, just like the doctors they watched on TV. He peeled away the material and they both leaned in, staring at the now exposed stuffing.

"Needle, and quickly. He's getting exposed to germs."

Sam handed over a big darning needle that had string threaded through its eye. "You need to suture it, Dean. Hurry!"

"I got it," Dean mumbled as he pushed through the base of the wound, stitching upwards in a mostly straight line. "Almost…there."

Both he and Sam leant back on their heels and sighed dramatically. "Good job, Doctor Dean. You saved his life."

"Thank you, Nurse Sam."

"Shut _up_, Dean! I don't wanna be the nurse!"

"Hey, if I'm the doctor, you're the nurse. Suck it up."

Sam's eyes cut to the side as he settled in for a good sulk.

Dean sighed. Being a big brother was hard sometimes. "I'm afraid the news isn't all good though."

"No?" Almost against his will, Sam looked interested.

"No. He's got a cancerous boil in his arm. Big one; could turn into gangrene. You need to get it out before it explodes."

Sam nodded seriously. "That means you'll have to assist me. It looks like a tricky case, Nurse Dean."

Dean's eyes narrowed.

"Scalpel," Sam said, huge smile on his face. He held out his palm.

"Sam? Dean? What're you boys doing back there?" John hollered from the lounge room.

"Shit!" Sam squealed.

 

4\. "Dude, c'mon. Dad'll kick our asses if we don't get down to Pastor Jim's in time."

"I'm coming," Sam said as he stared at his frustrated expression in the mirror. His fingers fumbled again.

"What're you do – ?"

"I can't get it to sit right."

"Dickwad," Dean said, standing behind him and slapping his hands away. "Stand still."

Dean's chin poked into his shoulder as he undid the knot and pulled at the ends of the material until they were even.

"Look, it's easy. Pull this up and around, ya gotta tuck this under – "

Sam blew a piece of hair out of his eye and looked at their reflection, watched solemnly as his brother taught him how to properly do up a tie.

 

5\. "Is that all you got? You're a pussy, man. A big, wet, dripp – "

"You're fucking disgusting, dude," Sam panted as he swung around fast and low, almost managing to sweep Dean's legs out from under him.

"Hey, that's no way to talk to your big bro. Better not let Dad here you," Dean grinned, dancing to the side and snapping out a solid punch from the shoulder.

It connected; Sam grimaced as a flare of pain flew through his ribs. "Dad's asleep and you still fight like a girl."

"Was Muhammad Ali a girl? 'Cause I got the moves, baby. I float like a butterfly and sting like a bee," Dean boasted as he shuffled his feet quickly through the dirt, sending up dust clouds that did nothing but make him sneeze.

Sam saw his chance and took it – a grab of Dean's forearm, a sudden pull, a little trip – and Dean was facedown and eating dirt.

"Nice," Dean wheezed from under him.

"Oh yeah, I got the moves," Sam huffed into the back of his neck.


End file.
